Child of Virtue, Man of Vice
by Dshuck2119
Summary: A young girl challenges Dorian to a bet when Basil Hayward paints her a picture of her own.
1. Chapter One: Two Pictures and A Bet

CHILD OF VIRTUE, MAN OF VICE

 _A Picture of Dorian Gray Story_

 _This story has been on my mind ever since I watched the trailer for the 2009 re-make of the Oscar Wilde story. I wanted to answer the following question: what would happen if a bet was made between Dorian Gray and a stranger, someone who believed that Dorian and Lord Henry Wotton were wrong in their thinking? Enter Emily Glum, a poor, undereducated girl with a wooden leg. She is an orphan that most of the world doesn't notice, but believes in her faith and its tenants above all else._

 _I own nothing to do with The Picture of Dorian Gray._

CHAPTER ONE – Two Pictures and A Bet

 _19 Morton Street_

 _London, England, Summer 1890_

The tolling of the big church bell across the street woke young Emily Glum from her sleep on the morning of her tenth birthday. Despite living in a poor, rundown room of an apartment kindly rented to her by Mr. Mason, she slept in a large featherbed that Mr. Mason kept warn by laying hot bricks underneath in the winter.

Emily was what one would call a "street gamin," but even in poverty, she felt she was blessed. She had dirty blonde hair she kept underneath an old gray crocheted cap, and she always wore hand-me-down gray petticoats, but she thanked God that she was provided for. Her eyes were gray and sunken-in, and she never had quite enough food to eat or time to sleep, but she felt blessed just the same. She was skinny, her teeth were yellowed and jagged, and she couldn't talk properly, but she had her faith. She typically worked six days a week, twelve hours every day for low wages, but she praised God for the work she had.

In fact, if one looked closely at young Emily Glum, one would find that she valued her Bible more than anything in the world. She always had a small Bible in her pocket, knew its contents backward and forward, and there was never a situation, in her mind, that could not be taken back to the Scripture. This included the healing of her missing right leg. Yes, she had been born with only one leg, the majority of her right one not being there. Her right leg stopped at the ankle, and a wooden "prosthetic," if one could call it that, was put in its place. It caused her a few problems beneath her heavy clothing, but she had adapted to overcome the challenge.

Emily dressed herself in one of her petticoats and hobbled down the stairs to meet Mr. Mason, her godfather and elderly landlord. He reminded her of America's Benjamin Franklin with his longer gray hair, half-moon glasses, and extremely big heart.

The man had rented to her father for decades, and while her parents were dying of tuberculosis, they made Mr. Mason swear to always have a place for the infant Emily, who had been removed from the home to keep her safe and alive. Mr. Mason agreed, and while he treated Emily like any other tenant, Emily paid a much lower rent. In addition, he always made sure the sidewalks were clear and made sure she had extra coal and oil for winter, even going so far as to check on her.

"I made your father a promise to care for you," Mr. Mason sometimes said. "I know people think I should have taken you in as a child, but I have no wife and only enough money to scrape by on my own bills. I know I should send you off to school, but I don't have the money. I cared for you when you could not care for yourself…but now you are old enough to work and make your own money, and that's what you must do."

"Whell, 'dat ain' no trouble fer me, Mistah Mason," Emily had said. "'Da Lawd 'll see me throu', an' provide, 'dat He will!"

This particular morning, however, Mister Mason was waiting for her at the foot of the staircase, a big smile on his face. Another man, this one plump with brown hair and glasses, was standing beside him, a present in his hand. Emily recognized the second man immediately: Basil Hallward, a local artist she loved to visit. On Saturday evenings, she would go to see him so she could gaze on all of his lovely works of art, dreaming of the day when she would also have her portrait made.

"Mistah Mason, Mistah Hallward!" she said, coming down the stairs to hug them both.

"Happy Birthday, Emily!" the men said, embracing her. Emily let go of the men, and the helped her off the last step to her breakfast, which was sumptuous by her standards: eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry preserves. Emily used the manners Mr. Mason and his maid, Miss Matthews, had drilled into her. When she finished, Mr. Hallward presented her with her first present, a five-pound note.

"Mistah Mason, yous allus' too kind 'ta me, I never can repay ya!"

"You never have to, Emily – you do more than enough," Mr. Mason said. "I spoke with Mr. Remming, your supervisor today. As today is the fourth anniversary of your employment by Mr. Remming, and you worked on Christmas last year, he's giving you today off.

"Whell, may 'da Lawd bless 'im allus," Emily replied. The young lady turned her attention to Basil. "Ya mind if I come an' look at yer pretty portraits today?"

"Actually, Emily…since today is your birthday…I wanted _you_ to be the subject of a few portraits for me, and that's the reason why I came early. I have an appointment with a man named Dorian Gray today, so you'll have to clean yourself up and head with me to a house Mr. Gray now owns. He inherited it from his wealthy grandfather."

Emily struggled to hold back tears as she reached for the five-pound note. "Mistah Hayward, wha' do I owe ye?"

"Emily, put that back; you owe me nothing," Hallward said sternly. "Come, dry your eyes and let's be off. I have a carriage ready for you."

Emily thought that the day couldn't get any better.

…

Emily and Basil made their way to the house of Dorian Gray, arriving there just after eight. This was most uncommon for Emily, as she was used to sweating buckets in the textile mill at this time. Hallward helped her down, and the two entered the opulent home to find Mr. Gray was not there.

"He should be here within the hour," Hayward explained as he began setting up his easel and paints. "He's meeting with Lord Henry Wotton. I'm sure they'll both be pleased to see you. Be careful not to touch anything; I don't own it."

"As ye wish, Mistah Hayward," Emily said nervously, almost anxious at all the beauty around her. She had never seen such ornate décor in all her life, and she was determined to take all of it in…knowing she would more than likely never see it again. Within the past week in the mill, two of her friends had lost arms and another had succumbed to pneumonia. Mr. Remming was a good foreman, but even so, Emily was not certain she would live to the age of eighteen. She had already suffered a bout of chicken pox at six, one that nearly put her in the grave next to the parents she knew nothing about. Knowing in her heart she would not live long, she asked God to help her make every single day she had the day she changed someone's life.

And today, it appeared that two people would be on her list.

At about eight-thirty, as Basil prepared the first portrait for Emily, a second carriage pulled up to the house, and she saw two men get out. She couldn't tell who was who yet, but she was certain she would meet them soon. A few minutes later, Dorian Gray and Lord Henry Wotton were standing in the room, dressed in black suit-and tie sets. Wotton appeared to be in his thirties, with a beard and piercing black eyes. Dorian, on the other hand, was in his twenties, and had brown hair with eyes to match.

And neither of them, contrary to what Basil had told Emily, looked very pleased to see the poverty-stricken slum girl sitting in an opulent armchair. "Mr. Hallward, who is this rabble-rouser?" Wotton asked in a condescending tone.

Emily rose from the chair, looking a bit hurt. "Lord Wotton, Mr. Gray, this is my young friend, Emily Glum. Surely, Mr. Wotton, you've heard of her?"

"I'm sure you've told me, but this young girl has nothing in life worth having – look at her!" Wotton snapped, taking a seat across from her. "Yes, she is young, but her youth is wasted already! She may be having her portrait made today, but it shall be little more than a memorial – a memorial to a life wasted in common sense and overwork!"

Emily felt herself seeing red, but Dorian came to her rescue. "Good morning, Miss Glum," he said, kissing her hand. "If I am not mistaken, today is your birthday, correct?"

"Yessir," Emily replied, blushing a little. "Tahday be mah tenth birthday, praise de Lawd!"

"Do you praise God in all you do?" Dorian asked.

"Why, yes I do!" Emily replied. "I be 'ere, 'ale, an' 'eathly – why shoul' I no' praise God?"

"Nonsense, child – there is no hereafter," Wotton snapped again. "As I said, you will die of common sense, one wasted moment at a time! You shall die, denied all the pleasure of life, your bones made to rot in an unmarked grave. Your life will be worthless, without meaning or purpose."

Basil Hallward shot Wotton a look, and he turned his attention away from Emily. Finally, after nine o'clock, Emily Glum's portrait was done. It was a little thing, big enough to fit in a small picture frame, but in Emily's eyes, it was a valuable keepsake. There she was, the scraggly little young woman, warts and all, sitting in the armchair like a young princess-in-waiting.

"Do you like it, Emily?" Hayward asked.

"It be 'da perdiest picture 'dat anyuhn's mad' a' me yet, save 'de Lawd."

Basil chuckled, then motioned for the child to leave the chair and sit across from him so Dorian could have his turn. Emily waited quietly as the handsome young man was painted, half-listening to the fawning comments between the three men. Emily had never seen Basil so happy making a painting – she knew he had found his muse, and was determined to make a painting that would be his ultimate masterpiece.

Finally, Basil made the last portrait – a self-portrait of Dorian. The men seemed more enraptured at this painting than the others, which depicted the young man almost as a king or young god.

"It is too bad, Dorian – your painting, just like Miss Glum's, is a portrait of your fast-fading youth," Wotton mused sadly. "It is too bad that both of you will lose the greatest thing you both have in life…although I daresay Miss Glum won't have a chance to experience her youth for what it truly is. She'll die before a streak of gray touches her hair."

Dorian paused. "If only…I could give my soul to preserve my youth, and remain as young as I am now forever."

At this moment, Emily was on the verge of tears, but she stepped out into view of the three men with a confidence she didn't know she had. "Whell, den," she said almost coldly, "If yous a-thinkin' yous gonna sell yer sou' ta 'de Devil – a fool's bet if I ever 'eard uhn, I'll make a bet wid' you, 'Orian Gray!"

Wotton, Hayward, and Gray all stared at the girl in surprise. "A bet, you say?" Gray asked, standing to meet the young challenger. "What is your wager?"

Emily fished in her pocket, taking care to avoid the money Mr. Mason gave her. She found another five-pound note in her pocket. "'Dis note 'ere," she said, slapping it on the table in gambler's fashion. "If yous a-gonna sell your sou' ta 'de Devil 'or eternal youth an' leasure, I-ma gonna give me lif' ta 'de Lawd from 'dis poin' on. I'ma gonna liv' me lif' 'de exact opposite way Mistah Wotton is sayin' – by way o' de Bible, in faith an' virtue."

"What, do you believe I am wrong in my thinking?" Wotton chuckled.

"Dat's exactly wha' I be sayin!" Emily replied in earnest.

Wotton roared with laughter. "Look at this foolish child, Basil!" he exclaimed. "She, with no education to speak of – and can't even talk properly, mind you – dares to stand up and say that _I_ , a man educated by the finest scholars of my day, am _wrong_! Here," he said, standing up and giving Emily her five-pound note back, replacing it with a twenty-pounder. "Take your money, you rascal – you have completely entertained me with your foolishness! Dorian, if you will match me with a twenty-pounder, we will have a bet. If you win by outliving this young lady and showing that your portrait looks better than hers, you shall come out with a forty-pound pot. However, if she lives and her portrait somehow manages to look better, she will not only win the pot, but I will write an article. This article will run in all the major London papers, delineate this bet, and show how wrong you and I were in this gambit."

Dorian laid his money down, shaking Emily's hand. "I'll take Miss Glum up on it."

Hallward looked alarmed, but threw in a twenty of his own. "Make it sixty. Mr. Wotton, will you manage this bet and place the wager in the bank?"

"I will."

Emily could barely believe what she had done – but she knew that her life was riding on the bet…whether she liked it or not. Sixty pounds, to her, would be her living for about five months.

She had to serve her God wholeheartedly if she wanted to live.

She had no choice. She _had_ to win.


	2. Chapter Two: Inferno

CHAPTER TWO – Inferno

For two weeks after Emily Glum's portrait was made…she felt guilty about her bet with the three men. She wondered how she could have been so stupid, so silly! Her guilt, in fact, was so intense that she hid the portrait in the bottom of her dresser, not letting anyone see it. She then repented of her deed before God and set about to forget the bet she had made.

She wondered and prayed about Wotton and Gray before she went to bed each night…horrified at Dorian's decision. An earthly life of youth and pleasure…in exchange for his very soul? The idea was horrifying to her. However…Dorian seemed like a nice man.

" _'Sorly a man lik' 'dat wouln't be dat foolish,"_ she mused. " _Suc' a thing as 'dat…he won't do nuthin' awful."_

However, this did not mean Emily chose to quit changing lives for the better whenever she could – far from it! One cool night, she found a would-be thief at her door. Instead of calling the police and sending the man away, she sat down with him on the front steps of the apartment, talking to him about the Lord and telling the man how much the Lord loved him.

"Why 'ye be out 'ere a-stealin'?" Emily finally asked.

"I ain't go' money 'or me baby," he explained shamefully. "I'ma fixin' 'ta get 'victed, me an' my family. All I need is five pounds – jes' five measly lil' pounds – an' we keep de house!"

"When ye needin' 'de money?"

"Tamarrah, in de mornin'."

Without thinking, Emily gave away the birthday money Mr. Mason had given her. "Yo' git on home ta 'our family, an' be careful," she said, knowing that the man had come from the criminal-filled East End of London. "'Dis ain' no time 'ta be wanderin' 'de street – thieves an' murderin' folk be out."

"Yes, ma'am!" he said cheerily. "An' yo' bes' git up 'ta bed – yo' prolly hav' ta be up in 'de mornin'."

A few days after her visit with the would-be criminal, Emily was in the middle of a hard day's work at the textile mill, hauling in the heavy bags of cotton. Now, some would say such a job would be impossible for young Emily, but her upper body was strong – very strong. Mr. Remming once had another individual, a big, strapping man, doing the job. However, when the man demanded one raise too many – and Mr. Remming caught Emily gathering the massive bags in a wagon and hauling them, despite her missing leg – the man was fired, and the job passed to her.

Emily worked as she always did, hauling the bags. She knew the risks of her job…brown lung from the dust and lint, amputations…and more frightening than any other, the risk of fire. If a fire began in the building, it would have fuel enough to torch the whole street if the conditions were perfect.

And unbeknownst to Emily, one of the girls had tripped over a can of kerosene in Mr. Remming's office upstairs, knocking it over…and the fuel had made its way to an oil lamp that the foreman had not put out. Within minutes, the foreman's office had gone up in flames…and the sounds of screams from the second floor were terrifying to hear.

Emily knew that Mr. Remming had told her to evacuate the building if a fire ever started…to run and not think of anything but her own survival. However…that was not Emily Glum's way, bet or no bet.

In her mind, she was to be the last one out of an emergency…even if she was hauled off to the morgue in ashes. As the sounds of screams finally reached her ears, Emily turned and ran toward the fire…as others ran away. She quickly found that the women and girls were making their way out successfully, but the fire was moving fast…and there was no telling if everyone else had made it out.

Emily ignored the heavy smoke, lack of air, and the tears in her eyes as she made her way toward the source of the fire. She knew time was running out…but something in her spirit stirred.

Someone hadn't made it out yet. Emily was having trouble both breathing and walking, checking every so often to make sure her wooden leg had not caught fire.

If it did…she was doomed. Finally, she made her way to "The Prison," a small anteroom just off the hall from Mr. Remming's office, where he punished workers for slovenly dress, laziness, or other indiscretions that didn't merit firing. Inside, she found four girls and two young boys, all of them choking, crying, and terrified. The room had only one small window, with a ledge beneath it.

It was the only way out…the entire floor was up in flames, and Emily was unsure if they would all escape. Emily used her strong, skinny arms to throw open the sticky old window. She could see a panicked mass of people in the street below.

There was no time to wait for a ladder…they would have to jump. The boys didn't need to be told – they hurriedly grabbed two girls and leapt to the street below. Emily was practically gagging on smoke – if she didn't get air, and quickly, she would no doubt perish.

The third girl, a hothead with no fear, leapt out alone – leaving Emily and another girl. "Miss Emmie," the girl said, coughing, "I'ma scared!"

"Ye ain' go' tim' 'or dat, Lizzie – no' if ya wan' 'ta liv'!"

"But wha' yo' gonna do?"

"Da Lawd gonna lead me ou', dat what…*cough* *cough*… He goan' do."

Emily didn't want to have to pitch Lizzie out the window – but saw that she had no choice as the flames began to flood the room, forcing the girls to get to the window. "If you don' up an' go ou', I'ma hafta put ye out!" Emily roared over the fire.

"Bu' Miss Emmie-"

Emily, disregarding the bet, didn't let Lizzie finish. With the last bit of her strength, she lifted the terrified girl up, held her over the ledge, and dropped her down into the crowd of firemen and terrified people, who just barely managed to catch her. Emily, meanwhile, sagged to the floor, losing consciousness as the roof on the other side of the building collapsed…and a downpour began.

Without warning, and for reasons none could explain…the fire immediately went out. One minute, the building was ablaze…the next, the fire disappeared, leaving nothing but a charred husk of a building in its wake. Mr. Remming, a straw-thin man with a thick black goatee and matching hair, was sobbing…but as soon as he saw the flames disappear, he ran toward the building.

"Sir, you can't!" the fire chief protested, still shaking off being hit in the head when the young tomboy landed on him.

"EMILY!" Remming roared, tearing up the stairs like a maniac as he made his way to the room from which Emily had dropped Lizzie. As fire crews moved quickly to hoist a ladder, Mr. Remming quickly located the unconscious girl, barely breathing but alive, on the floor. She reeked of smoke and her clothing was a little charred, but she was alive.

"Emily, Emily," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Emily!" He held her, crying until the ladder and a fireman appeared, and then he helped her get out of the building. She was then placed on a litter, and hurried away by carriage to a hospital.


	3. Chapter 3: Praying for Prince Charming

CHAPTER THREE – Praying for "Prince Charming"

The next morning, Emily awoke…in a hospital. Emily, as far as she knew, had never been in such a place in her life, but…she was surprised she was even still alive.

"Praise…de Lawd," she grated, her voice still a touch hoarse from smoke inhalation. She sat up slowly, reaching for her head…and found that her crocheted cap was gone. She pulled back the thin blanket on her…to find that she was dressed in an equally thin medical gown. A sudden embarrassment seized her.

"Doctah!" she cried.

The moment she spoke, her doctor, a tall, middle-aged man with thinning hair, walked into the room. "Miss Glum?" he asked. "I am Doctor Stevenson, Head Doctor of the Burn Unit, and I am honored to be taking care of you. You will not pay a dime for your care – several kind people are amazed at your heroism, and are footing the bill."

Emily was about to speak, but just then, a sense of fear washed over her. The factory – she knew it would be inoperable for months, maybe longer. How in the _world_ would she find work, especially in her condition?

"Miss Glum?" the doctor repeated.

Emily realized the mistake. "Yehs gotta forgive a-me, Doctah – I can' be 'ere long. I'ma gonna hafta be on mah feet soon as I can be – me bein' 'ere ain' gonna git me bills paid."

The doctor looked horrified. "Child, you have wound up in here as a result of heavy smoke inhalation – it's a wonder you weren't crushed or burned alive. You will stay in here exactly two more days…and then, I will return you to your parents."

"I hav' no parents, Doctah," Emily replied sadly. "'Dey be long dead, ever since I be a wee babe. I bin on me own since I be five."

"Is that so?" he mused, almost to himself. "Well…if that be so, then I shall take you into my home. No more shall you worry for your rent, clothing, or food – you shall be trained by the finest governess I can buy, and in five years, I'll have you off to the finest boarding school in London."

Emily smiled, but then, a new man burst into the room. He was blonde, and quite tall to boot – he almost bumped his head on the ceiling! "Doctor, did I not say that she would be taken into my house, the noble House of Nottingham!" he cried. "I'll not have you taking from me the child my wife and I have wished for."

"By gum," the doctor exclaimed. "It matters not which one of us takes the bloody child – she _needs_ a home! We simply can NOT allow her to die of brown lung or overwork!"

Almost as suddenly, a third man appeared, this time with a woman. They did not appear as wealthy or well-educated as the others, but there was a look of wanting in their eyes. "Sirs," he said quietly. "This young woman has already dealt with a nasty fire – this bickering will not help her recover."

"What?" the nobleman asked. "Do you seek this child as well?"

Tears misted in the eyes of the couple. "I am Cooper – Cooper Matthews, gentlemen. I own a few small restaurants in this city. Last month…our daughter, Melissa, drowned in the Thames after an accident. My wife and I are distraught, and our hearts are heavy. I know you have made your own home, Miss Glum…but would you come into our home to be our daughter?"

Emily's head was spinning…but she knew she had a decision to make. "Ladies an' gentlemen," she said, trying to be appropriate. "Can I ask ye 'ta leave me wid de Lawd a minut'? I…I shoul' kno' wha' 'ta do."

The man from Nottingham House looked like he wanted to protest, but the doctor and the Matthews couple consented. Seeing that he was not going to get his way without the consent of a higher power, he finally left.

Emily managed to pull herself out of bed, and got to her knees. Ignoring the slight burns on her arms, she folded her hands in prayer. "Lawd, than' Ye for pullin' me ou' o' troubl' again," she began. "I wan' 'ta than' ye also 'or 'de families 'dat wan' ta make me 'der own, bu' I can only go wid' uhn. Can Ye tell me 'ere 'ta go?"

The answer was immediate. _"If you heal the broken hearts, you will do the most good."_

Emily thanked God for His swift reply, and went to meet the Matthews family. "Mistah an' Missus Matthews…I be glad 'ta come wid' ya. Can I…go 'ta school, an' learn 'ta talk proper?"

"We have money enough for a governess," Mrs. Matthews replied. "If you do well enough…we may be able to send you to boarding school. You won't have an opulent life…you'll have to help in the restaurant…but you'll be able to work for money you can spend on things you want, and have Saturday and Sunday off. You won't be poor, hungry, or tired anymore."

Emily's eyes sparkled with tears. "Th-Thank ye," she replied. Then, she turned to the other men, hugging the doctor and the nobleman. "I'ma sorry I can' go wid' ye," she said, "but 'dis be where I need 'ta go."

"You have no reason to apologize, Miss Glum," the Doctor said. "Now, come – I need to change your dressings, and you need medicine…you have early signs of brown lung."

"Whell, ye need 'ta fix 'dat, don' ye?" she smiled. "Very whell, den!"

In fact, it was soon discovered Emily needed to spend an extra night in the hospital, as the brown lung was slightly worse than anticipated. While the London papers raved about "Brave Little Em," Emily was quite displeased with all the attention. She actually apologized profusely to Lizzie for throwing her out the window, in spite of the fact that the frightened girl would no doubt have died without Emily's intervention.

Mr. Mason and Mr. Remming hauled her few worldly possessions to her new home on Withdrow Lane, with the latter coming to the hospital next day in tears over what had happened. He would rebuild, but was "ashamed to lose his best pair of hands."

"That Matthews family has hired ten strong men to run that restaurant," he remarked. "You'll make them awful proud, no doubt of that."

Emily choked back a couple tears at the realization of this being her good-bye to the life she once knew, embracing the older man. "I'll miss ye somethin' righ' awful," she said.

"I actually eat at that restaurant; we won't be separated forever!" Mr. Remming said, drying her eyes. "Now dry those tears; you'll make me cry too."

However…on the last night of her hospital stay, Emily could not get to sleep. Once again, just as it had some days before, her spirit stirred within her. Finally, she could bear it no longer, and she opened the window, easing herself down to the fire escape and down the stairs to the city below.

Emily was nervous – dreadfully nervous. She didn't know where she was being led, and she could feel an urgency about this. Time was of the essence – but her thoughts, oddly enough, were taking her to the waterfront. She struggled with her walking a bit, and her body ached some from the burns, but she made it there…just as a woman leapt into the water!

Emily wasted no time grabbing the woman's hand just before she sank into the blackness completely…but she nearly pulled Emily in with her. It was a struggle to pull the woman to the dock without messing up her fragile dressings, but thankfully for Emily, years of hauling heavy bags for Mr. Remming paid off, and she succeeded. Emily couldn't make out the woman's face that well…but she could see eyes filled with heartbreak.

"Why?" the woman sobbed, her gaze going beck to the water, almost as if she wanted to disregard Emily's latest act of bravery. "W-Why did you save m-me?"

"'Dere be no reason 'or ye 'ta be takin' yo' lif' lik' dat!" Emily said. "Somebody loves 'ye somethin' awful 'or 'Im ta call me ou' 'ere in 'da middle o' da nigh', 'specially as burn' up as I be!"

" _I didn't want to be saved, you wretch!"_ the woman screamed, sobbing into Emily's hospital gown. The chill of the night air made the young girl shiver. " _I wanted to die!"_

Emily paused, letting the woman cry as she wrapped her arms around her. After a few minutes, the woman, whose make-up was now stained, stared up at Emily.

"What in the dickens…would drive a hospital patient out to a cold place like this in the middle of the night…to save a fool like me?"

"Mah Mastah woul' go anyplace…'or a soul," Emily replied. "'Ere He goes, I go. Now, wha' be 'our name, Missus?"

"S-Sybil," the woman hiccupped. "Sybil Vane." The woman then launched into a explanation of her life. Formerly a budding actress, she had fallen in love with a man she called "Prince Charming." She had become pregnant with the man's child, and performed so poorly on a Shakespeare production that she not only lost her job, but Prince Charming's love as well. Heartbroken, she wanted to die.

Emily sat and pondered the story. "Sybil?"

"Yes?" Sybil asked.

"Yo' go' somethin' new 'ta liv' 'or."

"What?"

Emily pointed at Sybil's stomach. "Look a' me," she said softly. "'Til a 'ew weeks ago, all I 'ad was me Bible, me job, an' me friends. Me job is gone 'ow, an' I prolly ain' gonna see mah friends no mor'. I thoug' I wasn' gonna be 'ere too long – me job was a-makin' me sick, an' I 'lready go' sick uhn tim' wid' 'de pox – 'dat was awful. But I didn' give up. 'Ou got a lil' uhn now, an' yous got ta mak' a choice. Ye gonna throw dat baby out wid' ye….o' ye gonna put someone new in 'ront a you – mak' 'dem yo' 'eason 'or livin?"

Sybil paused. "You have the worst English."

"No uhn ever taugh' me 'ow 'ta talk 'dat proper talk," Emily said. "Only thin' I kno' real good's me Bible. Ye kno' da Bible, an' ye be wise, dat be wha' me momma say ta me 'fore she die. 'Course, Mistah Mason tol' me dat – me momma an' poppa both be dead, God rest 'dere souls."

Sybil paused. "I…never thought of the baby."

"Whell, dat 'our 'sposnsibility now!" Emily said. "Don' matter wha' Prince Charmin' say, he gave ye a lil' blessin' from de Lawd! You 'sposed ta care 'or dat baby, an' make 'im righ' sorry 'or walkin' out on ye! You perdy from 'da inside ou', don' ye let no one tell ye no 'ifferent!

Sybil looked up at the girl with sad eyes, almost as though part of her still wanted to die, but she knew Emily was right. "Brave Little Em," she replied. "I'm not sure if I thank you for saving my life…but the papers are right about you. You may be missing a leg…but you have the heart of a lioness. Come…you need to get back to the hospital."

Sybil helped her get back, and despite getting a royal hide-chewing from Doctor Stevenson, his temper cooled when Sybil explained her failed suicide attempt. As Emily managed to fall asleep just after midnight…her picture came back to her mind. Desiring to see it one more time, as she had not seen Hallward's portrait of her for three weeks, she extracted it from the gunny sack Mr. Mason had put it in…and was surprised at it.

Emily's face, which was unsmiling originally due to her yellowed teeth, was now smiling – a big, brilliant white smile. Her cheeks were plumper, and her eyes glittered brightly, more brightly than they ever had.

"Can' be me," she said softly. "'Dat can' be me – shebe too perdy!" Then, her thoughts went to Dorian Gray…and her blood ran cold as she uttered a prayer for him.

Could he be…Prince Charming?


End file.
